


Resurrection

by SilverSkiesAtMidnight



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A curse word somewhere in there, Dad!Tony, Everyone lives, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Just this once Rose, Like, Mild Language, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Soul Stone (Marvel), Temporary Character Death, Tony Stark Has A Heart, they both need a hug and they get one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 15:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15911169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight
Summary: Thanos wins, for a time.One year later, Peter wakes up in the woods.





	Resurrection

Death doesn’t feel cold. 

It feels like the tingle of coming in from the cold and standing next to a heater, sharp and biting and hot-cold, except it doesn’t start in his fingers and toes, it starts deep in his chest, behind his ribs, and spreads painfully out. 

He shudders. 

“Something is happening,” murmurs the woman from the ship, and she crumbles. 

And then he knows. He _knows_. 

He stumbles towards Tony. The man hasn’t noticed, not yet. 

“Mr. Stark,” he mumbles, and his mouth tastes like ash. “I don’t feel so good.”

The man turns, finally, and his eyes widen in horror. 

Peter stumbles forward another step, before his legs give out. Arms wrap around him and catch him, and they feel cold.

The too-sharp warmth spreads along his bones, furling out into his limbs, and he curls into the cool safety of his mentor to try and escape it. “I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please. Please, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go,” he chants desperately into his shoulder, and panic blossoms within him as he tries to take a breath and _can’t_. 

There’s a feeling like vertigo, and then the Titan sky is above him, and in front of that is Tony, staring down at him in terror. Peter can’t tell if he can feel a hand cupping his head, supporting him, or if he’s too far gone. 

He has to go now, and he knows it. Amber heat blooms at the back of his skull, and he has to struggle to meet Tony’s frightened eyes. 

He wishes he didn’t have to leave him alone. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, barely. It will have to be enough. 

His vision blurs and glows, and Tony and Titan and that sky that isn’t his all disappear. 

And then there is nothing. An infinite, golden, nothing, and he does not think of anything again. 

… 

When he opens his eyes, there are trees above him. 

Peter blinks up at the vivid green, and the color is jarring, though he can’t quite think why. 

He licks his dry lips, and thinks of dust. 

His fingers flex against the ground, and he feels cool, moist, soil beneath them. He sinks his fingertips in, and relishes the feeling.

It’s a struggle to sit up. Nothing hurts, but his muscles tremble as though he hasn’t used them in a long time. Perhaps he hasn’t, he thinks, looking around. He has no idea how he got here. 

He’s definitely in the woods. Cicadas buzz above him, and the air is warm and humid. There’s no sign of any other human beings. 

He decides there’s really only one option here. He picks a direction, and starts to walk.

The sun creeps slowly overhead, and eventually he’s pretty sure he’s headed East. The heat gets increasingly uncomfortable. Sweat rolls down his face, but with the humidity, it doesn’t help. 

Peter finds he hates it with a passion. 

Some memories begin to filter back into his brain. He remembers the round ship in the sky, jumping aboard, leaving the atmosphere. He remembers the Guardians. 

Some things remain disjointed and unfocused. 

Sand. Arms around him, cradling him. The taste of ash. Gold.

He doesn’t remember why. 

At least he’s clearly back on Earth. He thinks. 

The forest sure _seems_ like a regular, earthly forest. Right up until a giraffe emerges from the trees ahead of him. 

He freezes. The giraffe halts, looking down at him. It seems just as puzzled as he is. 

It bends its neck down delicately, eyeing him. Then, it huffs, flicks an ear, and ambles on, away from him. 

He stares after the surreal sight in shock, and wonders if maybe he hasn’t just flat-out lost his mind. 

_Maybe I’ve just gotten one too many concussions_ , he thinks wildly. _Maybe I’ve been drugged. Maybe I’m dead_. 

He swallows thickly, that last idea ringing in his head. It takes on a new form.

 _I think I died_. 

Nothing changes with the realization. The cicadas still buzz, the air is still hot and muggy, and the leaves rustle softly in the breeze. He decides he might as well keep walking, then. 

It takes him maybe an hour before he finally hits a road, the first sign of civilization he’s seen. 

_Do angels drive cars?_ He wonders curiously. _Maybe it’s the highway to hell._

He would laugh if he had the faintest idea how the fuck he felt right now. 

Instead, he follows the road. 

About half a mile along, there’s movement on the other side of the road, and he freezes again. This time, a person emerges from the trees. A woman in a hijab walks out from the treeline, stopping when she sees him. 

He raises a hand and gives an awkward little wave. “Hi,” he says, the word feeling strange on his tongue. 

Slowly, she waves back. She says something not in English. It sounds like a question. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I don’t understand…”

She bites her lip, frowning worriedly. She steps up onto the asphalt, looking both ways along the road. She points at herself. “Nihal,” she tells him.

“Peter,” he replies. She smiles hesitantly at him. 

“I was going this way…?” Peter says, pointing down the road.

She nods, and falls into step beside him. 

Together, they head on down the empty road. 

After awhile, he catches her glancing at him sideways when she thinks he isn’t looking. He makes eye contact the next time she does it. 

She opens her mouth as though to speak, then frowns, catching herself. She points to his chest, and he looks down at the spider emblem, processing for the first time that he’s still in the suit. She raises her palms in a _why_ gesture. 

“Oh! Um. Do you know the Avengers?” 

She brightens. “Avengers!” she exclaims in an accented voice. She points at him questioningly. “Avenger?” she asks. 

Technically, Tony _did_ say…

He nods, and she beams at him. He grins back. 

Then, he hears it. He spins quickly, and sure enough, there’s a truck just coming over a hill in the distance. 

“Look!” he says excitedly, pointing, and she sees it as well. They move off to the side of the road to wait, waving it down when it gets close enough. To Peter’s relief, it slows. 

A man in a baseball cap sticks his head out the window. He looks pale and stressed, his eyes wide. Before Peter can even speak to ask for a ride, he cuts him off. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, so don’t ask, but I’m heading to town, so if you two need a ride you can hop up in the bed. I’ll drop you off at...I don’t know, the police station, I guess.”

Peter nods quickly. “Thank you,” he says, jogging over to the truck bed. He helps Nihal up beside him, and the truck peels off with a screech of tires so fast he nearly loses his balance. 

The trees pass in a blur of brown and green. Eventually, the blur is broken by an increasing number of houses. 

They have to slow to nearly a crawl as they enter the town itself, because, as far as he can tell, every person in it is either out on the sidewalk or in their car as well. Small groups huddle on the edges of the street, talking in low voices. Others are on their phones. He sees tears on some faces, expressions of hope and fear on others. He spots a few that look as out-of-place as Nihal. There’s a pair of Asian men standing beneath a lamp post, looking lost. A woman in what looks like Wakandan armor stalks past the line of slow cars, and another woman speaks soothingly to a crying child in what he’s pretty sure is French. A man in full diving gear waits at a crosswalk. 

Peter supposes it’s lucky everything is so chaotic. No one looks twice at a teenager in a spider-man outfit in the back of an old pick up. 

The driver stops in front of the small police station, but doesn’t pull in to the parking lot. There’s no room anyway, every spot is full. He sticks his head out the driver’s side window and calls back to them. “You two better get out now, I gotta get to the airport.”

The pair clamber out onto the hot asphalt. “Thank you so much,” Peter tells him earnestly. 

He nods in response. “Take care, kid.” 

When they enter the doors of the police station, it’s almost worse than outside. The phones are ringing constantly, and the lobby is full of people, sitting, standing, pestering the officers behind the front desk. Nihal edges closer to Peter, looking around with wide eyes, and he takes a step back to stay at her side. He guides them along the edges of the room where the crowd is the thinnest, until they’re up next to the information desk.

“Joe said his wife called him from Texas, so what does that mean? Where’s my sister going to be?” One woman is demanding. 

“Please, I need to report my daughter missing. I can do that now, right? If they’re really back?” Another man asks, sounding close to tears. 

“Um. Excuse me, ma’am?” Peter says hesitantly. The cop doesn’t even glance at him, just puts a finger up as she picks up the ringing phone. 

“I already told you Mike, we’ll let you know if we find her, okay?” She says, clearly trying to retain a professional tone, and hangs up the phone before whoever’s on the other end can possibly have answered. She looks up at Peter. “What do you need?” She asks impatiently. 

“Um.” He glances at Nihal. “I don’t think we know where we are. I woke up in the woods? And I don’t think she speaks English,” he tells her uncertainly. 

“Ah, you’re one of them. We’ll get you home, kid. Jason?” She calls briskly over his shoulder. Another officer appears beside them, his face drawn. “Can you take these two back to the holding area? See if they can call anyone.” She shoots them both a tight smile, and turns back to the rest of the people crowded around the desk. 

“Follow me,” the new officer says, and walks off without checking to see if they do. He takes them to a room full of desks and even more people. Peter is starting to find it a little hard to breath. “There’s a phone on every desk. Do you two have someone you can call?” The man asks. 

“I...I think so. She doesn’t speak English, I think,” Peter tells him, trying to focus only on the man in front of him and not the numerous bodies and movements and voices he can hear in every part of the building. 

The officer sighs tiredly. “Okay. You make your calls, and she’ll just have to wait until we can find a translator.” He turns to go.

Peter catches the edge of his sleeve with his fingertips. “Wait!” 

“What?” The man snaps. 

Peter takes a deep breath. “Can you tell us where we are?” 

The officer’s face softens a tiny bit. “You’re in Michigan, kid.” 

The officer tugs his sleeve free, and disappears back to the front of the station, leaving him standing, stunned and confused. 

A touch on his arm snaps him out of it. Nihal looks at him questioningly. 

“Yeah, yeah, right,” he mumbles. He takes them over to a desk in the corner, and he offers her the phone. She shakes her head apologetically. He smiles reassuringly, and picks up the phone himself. 

He hesitates, fear curling in his chest. 

_Was Tony even alive?_

He remembers the fight on Titan, but he still doesn’t remember how it _ended._

Tony might have never even come back to Earth. He could be rotting back on Titan this very second. 

Peter forces himself to dial the number with numb fingers. 

The phone rings. Once. Twice. 

There’s a click. “Hello?” Tony’s voice comes through, and Peter’s breath rushes out of him at the sheer relief of it. 

“Hello? Who’s there?” He sounds almost urgent. There’s a brief moment of silence, and Peter hears a faint intake of air on the other end. “...Peter?”

And suddenly, Peter remembers it. All of it, right up until the very last second, and it’s all he can do not to burst into tears right then and there. 

“Dad,” he chokes out. 

“Peter,” Tony breathes. “Peter, thank god, where are you? I’m coming to get you.” 

“Michigan,” he tells him, and oh god he really is crying, no one’s ever going to treat him like an adult again at this rate. “I don’t know where exactly, but I’m at a police station.” 

“That’s good, that’s perfect, Friday’s tracing your call right now. I’m coming right to you kid, hang in there.” 

In the background, Peter can hear the blasters firing, and he knows it’s true. 

There’s another woman waiting next to the desk for the phone. “Listen, there’s someone else who needs to use the phone, so I have to hang up now,” Peter tells him, wishing desperately he could just stay on the line until he gets there. “But you’re going to be here soon, right?” he asks, a little desperately. 

“Quicker than you can blink, underoos. Friday says about an hour, but I can probably push that. I’m taking you home,” he tells him fiercely. 

“Okay. I’ll see you soon,” Peter says softly, and makes himself hang up before he can hesitate. 

He takes a moment to collect himself, before he stands and passes the phone to the woman waiting. Looking around, he finds no open chairs in the room, so he moves over to where Nihal is leaning against the wall, and sits cross legged beside her. She copies him, and they sit, looking around. She looks scared, and he wishes he could say something to reassure her. 

He looks around him, and finds a wadded up ball of paper next to the trash can in the corner. He picks it up, scrunches it a few times in his hands, and tosses it lightly to her. She catches it, looking at him in surprise. Then, she smiles, catching on, and tosses it back. 

They sit and play catch, in the corner of the police station filled with the lost-and-found, and it’s okay. For now, it’s all okay. 

… 

Tony arrives precisely forty-three minutes later, and comes in through a back exit, still in the suit. 

Peter’s head whips up as soon as he hears the familiar clank of boots, and he launches to his feet. He’s across the room in seconds, and Tony steps out of the suit to meet him. 

He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he’s got his arms wrapped around his mentor, only barely remembering not to accidentally crush him. Tony clings back just as tightly. 

“Hey, hey kiddo, it’s okay, I got you,” he murmurs, and this time Peter is sure he’s really feeling the hand that strokes his hair. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” 

“I’m sorry Mr. Stark,” he mumbles against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I should have been faster, I should have done something - ”

“Don’t say that,” Tony says too-sharply, pulling back. “Don’t...don’t say that,” he repeats, less harshly. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You did everything you were supposed to and more, understand? You never, ever have to apologize for what happened. Ever. There’s no responsibility on your shoulders for this, I swear.” His voice is ragged. 

“How - ” Peter clears his throat. “How long has it been, since…” 

“The Incident?” Peter glances at him in confusion, and he clarifies. “That’s what everyone’s been calling it. It’s an understatement, I know.” 

Peter just nods.

“Almost a year,” Tony informs him, sounding suddenly infinitely weary. Peter notices, suddenly, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the way his cheekbones are a little sharper than they were the last time he saw him. 

Tony studies him right back. “What do you remember?” He asks quietly. 

Peter shrugs. “Just...Titan,” he gestures vaguely. Tony’s eyes darken, and Peter looks down. “I don’t remember anything after that. I just woke up in the woods.”

He looks up again abruptly. “What about everyone else? Are they okay?”

Tony hesitates a beat, before clapping him on the shoulder. “There’s a car waiting for us out front to take us to the airport. Let’s talk there.” 

Peter walks with for him a couple of steps before he stops. “Wait, Mr. Stark?” Tony raises an eyebrow at him in question, and he points over at where Nihal is standing, staring at them wide-eyed. “She was in the woods with me, she doesn’t speak English. Can you just help her get home? I don’t think the cops here are really set up for this kind of thing.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, I don’t really think anyone is, but of course. Fri, you got that translation software we’ve been working on?” 

“Yes, boss,” says the suit.

“Cool, it’s time for beta testing. Keep this suit with her, act as translator, and make whatever arrangements needed to see to it that she gets home safely.” The suit walks past them towards Nihal, while Tony looks around the station, shooting a paparazzi smile at the other people, all of whom are now staring at him with varying levels of confusion and awe. “While you’re at it, send another suit for the rest of the station, they look like they’re a little overwhelmed.” 

The hand that hasn’t left Peter’s shoulder since he put it there steers him gently towards the exit, but they’re stopped at the door. Nihal lets go of his arm, glancing at the suit, then looks him in the eye. 

“Ma’a salama,” she tells him, sincerity clear in her tone. 

“She says to be safe,” Friday informs him. 

He smiles brightly, genuinely, at her. “Thank you. I hope you get home soon.” 

Friday translates, and she smiles back. She gives him a little wave goodbye on their way out the door, and that’s the last he sees of her. 

… 

They sit in the back of the car, and Peter looks out at the vibrant green as they pass it. He asks the question without giving himself time to think about it. “Is May okay?” 

“You’re aunt’s fine. It’s…” Tony takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly through his nose. “It’s been a long year. But she’s okay.” 

Peter slumps, a knot of anxiety unwinding in his stomach. 

“Your friend’s fine too, he made it. The nerdy one? Fred?” 

“Ned,” Peter corrects, grinning. 

“Yeah yeah, Ted, that’s what I said.” 

Peter looks away from Tony, staring out the window as he asks, “what about everyone else?” 

Tony sighs, and Peter can hear him rubbing his temples. “Sam - you remember Sam, the one with the big metal wings - he turned up in Italy this morning. Pepper’s okay, Happy’s okay, he’s meeting us at the compound. Rhodey made it. Basically, everyone the big grape vanished a year ago should be back, but everyone’s a bit…” he twirls his hand, “jumbled. It seems like the stone put everyone back approximately where they came from, give or take the entire planet. We’re just lucky it seems to have put everyone back on _land_ , I can’t imagine the nightmare it’d be if the ocean was fair game too.” He shudders, and so does Peter, imagining what it would have been like to wake up alone, bobbing in the ocean, nothing but the empty horizon around him. 

“I saw a giraffe in the woods,” he blurts out, remembering suddenly. 

Tony gives a startled laugh. “Yeah, the environmentalists are going to have a hell of an adventure ahead.” 

“I kind of thought I was just going crazy, but this is way more inconvenient,” Peter snickers. The humor withers as soon as it grows. “I thought I was dead,” he says quietly. 

Tony flinches. “You weren’t,” he tells him in a low voice. “Thanos wasn’t the god he thought. All he did was put you in a pocket dimension. It took us a little while, but we got you back.” 

“It felt like being dead,” Peter says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or at least like dying.” 

The car purrs across the asphalt. Up ahead, a plane takes off. 

“It felt like mourning,” Tony replies, so softly Peter might not have heard it without his powers. 

He reaches out across the seat without looking, and Tony takes his hand, squeezing it comfortingly, though whose comfort, Peter isn’t sure. 

Neither one of them lets go until they have to get out to board the plane. 

… 

They don’t say much once they’re onboard. Tony puts on a pair of sunglasses and leans back in his seat, and Peter suspects he’s getting some of the first bit of sleep he’s gotten in quite some time. 

Peter doesn’t bother him. Instead, he looks out the window, at the glossy blue sky (and isn’t blue such a wonderful color for a sky to be?) 

It’s an hour and a half flight, and he watches the horizon beneath them until he dozes off as well, only twenty minutes in. 

…

Tony wakes him up as they come in over the compound. 

“Up and at ‘em, kiddo. You can nap in your room.” 

“I have a room?” Peter mumbles blearily, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Yep, you sure do. It’s got a bed and legos and Star Wars posters, everything a nerdy teen needs to survive.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. There’s a warmth in his chest, but it’s not a bad warmth this time. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Peter looks back out the window at the compound below as they circle down to land on the roof. There’s the swimming pool, the landing pad for the suits, and - 

“Mr. Stark, is that a rocket ship?” 

Tony glances absently out his own window, as though he needs to check. “Oh, that? Something like that.” 

“Did you decide to expand Stark Industries into space travel in the last year?” Peter asks, amused. “Because honestly Mr. Stark, that’s a really cool idea, and can I see some of the blueprints? Because I’ve got a ton of - ”

Tony cuts him off with a dry cough. “Actually, there was a concern that when we opened up the soul stone, that since you were on Titan when you - ” he exhales. “ - that you might come back on Titan. So, we had to be prepared for that possibility.” 

Peter turns to look at him, but finds him unusually focused on his phone. 

The warmth in his chest glows brighter, and he doesn’t say anything. 

But he thinks Tony knows anyway. 

…

The sun is going down as they step off the jet. Peter steps out to look off the edge of the roof, over the treetops. The sky stretches golden and bright in front of him, and for a moment, he’s somewhere far, far away. 

Then, Tony is beside him, looking out as well. “You doing okay?” he asks quietly, and Peter blinks, the ground solid beneath his feet and the air cool around him once again. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” he tells him, and he means it. “It’s just good to be home.” 

Tony wraps an arm around his shoulders in a half-hug. Peter leans into it. “I missed you, kiddo,” he says thickly. He squeezes his shoulders lightly. “Don’t ever do that again, okay? Christ, talk about giving an old man a heart attack.” 

“Drink less caffeine or you'll have one anyway,” Peter snarks back fondly. 

“Hey, who’s the adult here, huh?” 

“Debatable.” 

“You know, I’m not sure I like this new attitude of yours.” 

Peter laughs, and they turn to head in, still leaning against each other. 

“I know I just claimed to be the adult here, but how’s ice cream for dinner sound, huh? I’d say you’ve earned ice cream for dinner. I even got your favorite with the weird little peanut butter chunks. You can’t tell your aunt when she comes tomorrow, though.” 

“They’re not weird, they’re peanut butter cups. Deal, if you stop making fun of my ice cream preferences. You like mint, so you don’t get a say.” 

“Fine, fine, deal.” 

The sun slips below the horizon, and the first stars appear, twinkling benignly in a universe that, for the first time in too long, is whole once again. 

It feels like healing.

**Author's Note:**

> This has not been betaed or even particularly proofread, so feel free to point out any blatant mistakes. 
> 
> Please also note that I am not from the Middle East, nor do I speak Arabic, so let me know if I messed anything up there.
> 
> This was just a little story that struck me and I knew I had to write it, so yaay I did this instead of going to bed. Let me know what you guys think!! It was a lot of fun to write, so I'm hoping it was as fun to read!


End file.
